


Last Moments

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Depressed Harry Potter, Everyone is Dead, Gen, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Powerful Harry Potter, Short One Shot, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:21:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26734282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: He finds himself in the castle before he knew it, remembering different memories, forgetting most of them, and finally going off to his next adventure.
Kudos: 13





	Last Moments

Those little boats, a memory of an enjoyable and simpler time, little and wooden, unlit lanterns hanging above the seats. Harry sat down on a larger one, seemingly bent slightly out of shape by weight too heavy. Sighing at the remembrance of a friend, he flicked his hand, his boat slowly traveling through dark waters. He leaned backward as he stared at the unfittingly dark visage of the unlit Hogwarts.

He tensed, expecting a large tentacle of some kind, but released the tension when nothing happened, almost bringing him to tears.

Slowly pulling up at the shores, he walked up the steps, finally entering the imposing castle. As he arrived, he almost expected a reprimand over his dirty clothing and unkempt hair.

Clenching his fist, he stepped through the door, dragging mud through the hall. He imagined her face showing the little first-years through to the great hall, the house ghosts scaring the children with their ethereal bodies.

A wave of his hand scrubbed the floors clean. After all, there were no house elves to help anymore, and he’d had enough of mud anyways.

His mouth curled into a frown when the doors towards the great hall resisted his push. Pulling out his wand, 15 inches, elder wood, and a thestral tail hair core, he cast a simple spell, reducing friction between two objects.

With the rusted metallic hinges of the door no longer a problem, he pushed. The smell instantly hurt him, the food set out on the table was spoiled, rotten with no-one to clean up. Previously floating candles broken on the ground and tables, the magic of the castle slowly dying.

He stared up at the blank roof, the enchantment of the sky gone, leaving only an empty wooden roof. He walked forward, between the tables of the different houses of Hogwarts.

He stood in front of the staff tables, the seat of one of the most powerful wizards to exist in front of him. Conjuring a small phoenix statue, he placed it in front of the rotten uneaten tart.

Sending a wave of magic across the hall, he vanished the horrendous mockery of what once was delicious food. A small respect to the dead.

Ignoring the pains in his throat, he walked away, leaving the great hall.

Reaching the great staircase tower, he stared at the unmoving stairs, stuck in place with no magic to move them. Placing his hand on the walls of the tower, he sent a continuous stream of magic. It was just enough for stairs to slowly move, bending itself to the master’s will.

Stepping onto the marble stairs, he ran his hands along the railings, looking at the arches leading to different floors of the castle.

The second floor, where he remembered where Lockhart’s office was. He’d never forget his second year here, Moaning Myrtle, Ginny, The Basilisk. It was, in hindsight, something someone of his age should’ve never had to deal with, but, it’s the life of Harry Potter.

Another flight of stairs and then he arrived at the third corridor.

The so-called corridor of death in his first year, the first time he fought Voldemort, and where the Golden Trio was first cemented.

There was also Umbridge’s Office, the scars of the torture there was still imprinted on his hand. A truly unsavory person to share a school with.

And the Hospital Wing, who knows how many times he was stuck in there, it’s a miracle he doesn’t have a phobia of the color white yet.

Moving up another set of stairs, he reached the fourth floor. And while he doesn’t have many memories here, he does remember one specific mirror that marked what he wanted to strive for. But Necromancy would have been very hard to research as a first-year.

Fifth floor, the memorable prefect’s bathroom, where he found a clue to the second task of the tri-wizard tournament.

Sixth floor, the location of Horace Slughorn’s office, where he and a life long friend talked to the residing professor.

A short walk, and suddenly he reached it, his final destination. The end of his short but eventful story. 

The Griffindor’s common room, where many parties were had, and where he lived for all of seven years, more or less. The Fat Lady’s portrait forever asleep, the magic keeping them alive now almost dead.

The Room of Requirement, something he wished he took more advantage of for his own personal gain. An amazing piece of magic, something that would take centuries to recreated, now forever lost without the magic of Hogwarts.

Walking forwards, reaching a decapitated statue. He whispered  _ ‘lemon drops’ _ for old times sake, and powered through the enchantments and entered the office.

Hearing the comforting tick and tocks of the nearby trinkets of the late Dumbledore, Hogwarts pushing its magic one last time to give its last guest some enjoyment, his hands glided through the bookshelves, each finger collected dust.

Walking towards the desk, he froze, on the floor nearby the golden perch of a phoenix, laid dust that seemed darker than usual. Dropping to his knees, he searched through the ash, looking, hoping for at least one friend in the world.

But, no, the ash seemingly has been there for years, the supposed one true immortal creature in the magical world, gone.

Leaning on the desk, he slowly stumbled his way into the chair. The noise around him slowly died down. Hogwart running only on its fumes.

With a snap of his finger, he absorbed the minute amount of residual magic, the world seemingly completely quiet.

With a tear down his cheek, he sat still in the chair. Slowly, his breathing slowed.

And slowed.

And completely halted.

“So? What’s an adult-looking Harry Potter doing in my chair?” said Dumbledore, his wrinkled visage twinkled in a mischievous light. “Beautiful beard by the way.”

**Author's Note:**

> Started writing at midnight, so please, don't mind the spelling and grammar mistakes.


End file.
